


at last (life is like a song)

by obsessivereader



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Bisexual Bucky Barnes, Bisexual Steve Rogers, First Kiss, Fluff, Friends With Benefits, Friends to Lovers, Getting Together, M/M, Not Captain America: Civil War (Movie) Compliant, Oblivious Bucky, POV Bucky Barnes, Past Peggy Carter/Steve Rogers, Past Sharon Carter/Steve Rogers, Post-Captain America: The Winter Soldier
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-01
Updated: 2017-02-01
Packaged: 2018-09-21 10:20:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,831
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9543521
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/obsessivereader/pseuds/obsessivereader
Summary: What do you do when you’re a hundred years old and suddenly realise you want to bone your best friend? If you’re Bucky Barnes, you swear a lot and spend way too much time in denial. Good thing for Bucky his best friend’s never one to avoid a problem when he can run headlong at it.





	

**Author's Note:**

> The title is from At Last by Etta James, which seems very appropriate since it took them a century to get their happily ever after.

A hundred fucking years old and Bucky still can’t shake the need to keep an eye on one Steven Grant Rogers and his troublemaking ass. He resigns himself to his fate and scans the crowd at Stark’s PR event from behind the safety of the potted palms scattered around the perimeter of the room. It’s the usual mixed bag of rich people, politicians, government suits and the occasional scientist and geek and he's on high alert for a certain belligerent set to a certain pair of shoulders. 

When he finally spots Steve’s big blond head at the bar, he breathes a little easier. Even better, Sharon’s with him. They may have broken up, but she hasn’t lost her knack for wrangling Steve.

He takes a sip of his whiskey and watches as Steve laughs at something Sharon says, her hand on his forearm as she laughs along with him. A strange burning sensation spreads through his chest. He grimaces and presses a hand to his sternum. Was it heartburn? It felt kind of like heartburn. Heartburn, for fuck’s sake. Fucking Zola and his fucking knockoff serum. 

Then Steve starts looking about like he can feel Bucky watching him. _Hide._ He’s moving further back behind the palms before he has time to question the odd impulse, but they aren’t leafy enough to hide him. The shock of their eyes meeting sets up an uncomfortable rhythm in his heart and after staring at each other for a beat too long, Steve’s smile fades and his gaze turns considering.

A strange panic seizes Bucky. He turns and skirts the edges of the room as he makes for the lift to their apartment, neck prickling with the weight of Steve’s gaze following him all the way. His heart doesn’t stop pounding till he’s safely behind his bedroom door. 

Which is when he realises he’s still got the half-empty tumbler of whiskey clutched in his hand. He stares at it for a moment before draining it. What the fuck just happened?

*

Bucky nearly chokes on his coffee when Steve comes out of his bedroom the next morning without his fucking shirt on and hair all mussed like someone spent an hour running their fingers through it.

“Morning, Buck,” Steve says casually, as though he strolls around half naked every damned morning. 

“What the fuck, Steve?” Bucky blinks a few times but can’t get rid of the afterimage that’s been burned into his eyeballs. “What the hell happened to your shirt?”

Steve shrugs. Every muscle on display ripples and Bucky can't help following the motion with his eyes. “Got hot in the night so I took it off.” Steve pours himself a cup of coffee and takes a seat opposite him at the breakfast counter. 

Finding himself confronted by about an acre of smooth golden skin, he leans back to put some distance between himself and Steve’s… everything. He has to swallow to wet his suddenly dry throat. “You still feeling hot _now?_ ” 

“Yup.” Steve takes a sip of his coffee and studies Bucky over the rim of his cup. 

Steve _is_ looking a little pink about the face, but his nipples don’t look like they’re feeling the heat. Nope. No siree. In fact, they look downright chi—

What the fuck. Since when does he notice Steve’s nipples? He jumps to his feet and winces at the screech of chair legs on the floor.

Steve leans back in his seat and drapes one arm over the back of the chair. Bucky’s suddenly very aware of just how broad and muscled Steve’s shoulders are. 

“Where’re you going in such a hurry, Buck?” 

He gulps down the last of his coffee. “Clint,” he mutters as he doesn’t quite run away from Steve. “Shooting range.” 

*

Clint ambles out onto the shooting range and sets up next to Bucky. “Where’s the fire?” he signs, since Bucky’s already got earmuffs on. 

Bucky shakes his head, feeling extremely put out by the whole situation. He’s the Winter fucking Soldier and he can’t even lie to Steve without feeling so guilty he has to make Clint actually meet him at the range. 

He assembles his gun, letting the familiar motions settle him. So much for apologising to Steve for leaving early the night before. There was no way he could’ve gotten the words out though, not with those nipples in his face. Fucking Steve. A guy’s body really shouldn’t bulge like that. There should be a law or something... it just wasn’t decent.

Only years of conditioning prevent him from startling when he notices Nat on his other side. He swallows a curse. Nat studies him for a long moment while he tries to project ‘I totally knew you were there all along’. When her intrigued expression turns amused, he decides that, discretion being the better part of valour, he _really_ doesn’t want to know what he’s actually projecting.

He sights down the barrel of his gun and proceeds to shoot the target paper to shreds. Then because he’s still feeling all kinds of riled up, he shoots Clint’s target for good measure, ignoring the finger that earns him. He’s got enough sense not to shoot Nat’s though. He may be grumpy, but he’s not stupid. 

He shoots until he empties all the clips lined up in front of him. By the time he’s done, the range looks like a blizzard blew through it and he’s settled enough to feel bad about taking out his shit mood on Clint. When he switches out his target paper, he changes Clint’s as well.

*

There’s a body pressed to his back, large and almost feverishly hot. He pushes back into it and relishes the give of muscle behind him. A hand rough with calluses wraps around his aching cock and strokes him slow and firm, twisting over the head of his cock again and again and again. He feels strung out, every muscle taut and straining for release. A voice like silk over gravel whispers in his ear, “You gonna come for me, Buck?” 

He startles awake just as the tension in his muscles snaps. A sound that he'd forgotten he could make escapes him as pleasure crashes through his body in long, devastating waves. 

When there’s nothing left but the aftershocks, he lunges upright and whips the blanket off his overheated body. He stares at the cooling mess in his lap.

What.

Just...

What.

What the fuck was that dream?

*

He’s horny. Yeah… that’s probably it. It’d explain the buzzing restlessness under his skin and that fucking dream. And he’s maybe a little surprised to find out that guys do it for him too, but after all the changes he’s lived through, it’s honestly small potatoes. He carefully doesn’t think about the other thing.

“I need to get laid,” he says. He picks up a shuriken. One of these days, he’s going to figure out how Clint keeps getting into his shit to leave him these little ‘gifts’. From the corner of his eye, he can just make out the smirk on Nat’s lips. There’s a reason why he likes to have these conversations in the shooting range, no need for eye contact. 

“Really.” She sounds unimpressed as she rummages inside his bag for something to throw. “Shouldn’t you be having this conversation with someone else? Tall, blond,”—she quirks an eyebrow at him—“bleeds freedom?” 

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?” He winces when one tip of the shuriken punches through the reinforced steel back of the target board. 

“It’s not like you’d trust anyone else to get that close to you, James.”

That was a good fucking point that he’d also been trying very hard not to think about. Even his dream self seemed to have figured out that it couldn’t be anybody else _but_ Steve. “And just how the fuck am I supposed to swing that?” he asks. “‘Hey Steve, wanna help out a friend?’”

“You should try it.” She flips the ice pick in her hand a few times to get its balance before throwing it. “You might be surprised at the results.” Her lips tip up in that damned Sphinx smile of hers.

*

It’s been three days. Three fucking days since that dream. Three fucking days of Steve wandering around in the mornings without his shirt on. Three fucking days of looking at Steve and wondering; whether the skin on his stomach is as smooth as it looks, whether his lips are as soft as they look, what he looks like when he— 

Bucky makes an aggrieved sound that’s snatched away by the wind. Why the hell doesn’t Steve just use the fucking thermostat in his room? And it’s not like he can’t ask JARVIS to do it for him. Oh no, instead the idiot wanders around the apartment without his fucking shirt on every morning. And the whole time, Bucky’s thinking: 

_Hey Steve, wanna help out a friend?_

_Hey Steve, wanna help out a friend?_

_Hey Steve, wanna help out a friend?_

It’s like a fucking litany in his head. 

And he can’t stop wondering what Nat meant by he might be surprised by the results. Would Steve actually…? 

What the fuck is he thinking? Sure Steve’s into both men and women, but Steve had never—Steve isn’t interested in him. And he’s not about to fuck up their friendship just because he’s developed an itch and Steve’s the only person he trusts to scratch it with.

He just needs to stop gawping at Steve and thinking about that fucking dream. Get real friendly with his own hand. Maybe take more cold showers. Not that the cold nighttime wind seeping through his hoodie seems to be helping him cool down any. 

His thoughts are interrupted by the sound of the roof access door opening and closing, followed by the familiar rhythm of Steve’s footsteps. “Hey, Buck.” Steve takes a seat next to him on the ledge, close enough that they’re pressed together from shoulder to thigh. “Kinda cold out,” he says as he drapes his arm over Bucky’s shoulder.

That fucker, swanning around shirtless in the apartment, but now he’s cold. Bucky leans into Steve because it actually is kinda cold, and because… just because. He can already feel the stupid words piling up in the back of his throat like a logjam.

“You haven’t been around as much lately,” Steve says. 

He shrugs. No point denying the truth. 

“Everything okay?”

His gaze cuts briefly to Steve. He’s giving Bucky that look, that look that says ‘I will wait as long as I have to, I will accept you no matter what.’ He has no fucking defences against that look. And well… why the hell not, he can’t keep hiding from Steve forever, he doesn’t _want_ to, he misses him. Now he just needs to find the words. 

“You know it’s been… a while for me. Since I’ve been with… someone.” He can feel Steve’s gaze sharpening on him, making him grateful for the wind whipping his hair around his face. “So I spoke to Nat and she said—” The words die in his throat and he looks helplessly at Steve for a moment before turning back towards the view.

“Do you wanna... _be_ with someone, Buck?” 

Steve’s voice is gentle but he can still feel his face heating up. He presses his lips together and nods.

“Is there anyone in particular you have in mind?” Steve asks.

He makes himself look Steve in the eye, but has to look away again as a stomach-churning mix of nervousness and hope roils inside him. He can’t say it, but maybe if he circles round it... 

“The problem is, there’s only so many people I can actually trust enough to… to...” He gives up and makes a vague hand gesture instead. They’d never really needed all that many words to understand each other anyway.

There’s a long silence. Bucky stares at his feet hanging out over empty air and contemplates jumping down to the safety ledge a few storeys below and running away forever.

“You know, Buck,” Steve says in a low voice and puts a hand on Bucky's knee. Which is about when Bucky's brain checks out. Because that hand on his knee? Has _intent_. He stares at it. That big, strong, long-fingered hand. That big, strong, long-fingered hand that's _on his knee_. 

“Bucky?”

“What?”

“Did you hear a single thing I said?”

“Yes,” he mutters. He heard three words, after all.

“So what do you think?”

“Um.” He clears his throat. “Okay, I might have gotten a little distracted.” Which is an understatement, he feels like he's going to fucking come out of his skin, so aware of the intense heat of Steve's hand even through the material of his jeans. 

“Well,” Steve hesitates, and his thumb starts tapping out a rhythm against Bucky's knee. “There’s this thing called ‘friends with benefits’.”

“What’re you—” He licks suddenly dry lips. “What're you suggesting?”

Steve squeezes his knee and looks at him with steady eyes. “If you need me, I’m all yours.” 

There’s a taut silence while he tries to process what Steve said, not quite able to believe it could be that easy, that Steve would just give this to him. 

Steve starts snickering. “You should see your face.” 

“Fuck you, it's not every day I get propositioned by my best friend.”

“I'm pretty sure you propositioned me first, Buck.” 

Okay, fair. 

“So,” Steve says, “what do you think?”

“The benefits are supposed to go both ways, right? Doesn’t seem all that fair to you, Steve,” he says hesitantly.

“Who says I'm not getting anything out of it? It’s not exactly easy for me either.”

He stares at Steve. “Are you fucking kidding me? You’ve got people lining up around the block to date you.”

“That’s not really about me, Buck.” Steve’s smile is tight. “Most of them just want the shield and the uniform.”

And okay, hello mental image, but seventy years in the future and he still wants to deck all the people who can’t see past the surface to appreciate Steve for _Steve_ ; a flawed man who never backs down from doing the right thing, never gives up on someone he loves, and who also happens to be the best kind of cantankerous asshole. 

“You’re the only person left that really knows me. Besides,” Steve says with a crooked smile, “have you looked in a mirror lately? You’re not exactly hard on the eyes.”

Bucky ducks his head. Then, to cover how Steve’s turned his insides to mush, he nudges Steve. “Sweet talker.”

Steve nudges him back. “So what do you say, Buck?”

The question hangs between them. 

He’s not quite sure how they got here, with Steve waiting for his answer, instead of the other way around, but he’ll take it. He covers Steve’s hand with his own instead of saying anything, because voicing his wants is still hard for him sometimes. 

Steve turns his hand palm up and laces their fingers together. With his free hand, Steve carefully tucks Bucky’s hair behind his ear. “Can I kiss you?” 

The gentleness of Steve’s touch transmutes desire into something warm and golden that settles deep into his flesh and bones. He nods, and Steve leans in slowly and kisses him. It’s sweet and chaste and not at all what he’d been imagining, and yet he wouldn’t change it for the world. One kiss leads into two, into three, until the kisses blend seamlessly together, sweet and drugging.

When they finally move apart, Steve rests his forehead against Bucky’s, the cold tip of his nose just touching Bucky’s. “Let’s go back inside,” Steve says in a hushed voice.

“Yeah,” he whispers. “We’ll never live it down if we fall off the roof ‘cause we were necking.”

Steve gives an amused snort before climbing to his feet, tugging Bucky along with him. They don’t let go of each other’s hand the whole way back to their apartment. 

In the hallway that separates their bedrooms, Steve hesitates and looks at Bucky. “Are you sure about this, Buck?”

He rolls his eyes even as he feels a great surge of affection for the lunkhead in front of him. “One hundred percent.” The relief he sees in Steve's smile is pretty gratifying. 

Bucky opens the door to his room and pulls Steve inside. Even though the apartment is completely empty except for the two of them, Steve closes the door behind him because that’s just the kind of guy he is. And then it’s Bucky’s turn to hesitate. “So I've never done it with a fella before.” 

There’s a brief flash of something across Steve’s face… guilt? nervousness? “Buck…” For the first time that night, he sees Steve struggle for words. “I know you said you’re sure, but if you want to change your mind, or you want to think about it some more, it’s okay. This doesn’t change anything between us. And my offer will still stand.”

“No, I—It’s not that. I just—” Fuck, why is speaking so hard. “I don’t know what to do. Can you—You’re gonna have to lead, is all.” 

Steve closes the distance between them. “There's lots of things we can do that are just the same as doing it with a woman, alright? I could blow you, and if you close your eyes, you can even pretend I _am_ one.”

He cups his hand around Steve's jaw. “I could never pretend you're someone else.”

“I can shave—”

“Not what I meant, Steve. The whole point is that it's you, remember?”

“Goddamit, Buck. You—” Steve stops abruptly and squeezes his eyes shut. When he opens them again, they’re dark and intent. “You need to tap out, you say so, understood?” 

_Fuck_. His entire body tightens at the sound of Steve’s command voice. He’d heard it plenty during the war, and nowadays it gets piped straight into his ear over the coms, but he’s never had quite this reaction to it before. 

He’s only halfway through his nod when Steve pulls him into a kiss that makes his toes curl. An embarrassing sound escapes him when Steve’s tongue slips into his mouth. God, he’s missed this, missed kissing and being kissed, the give and take, the wet slippery heat, the feel of another warm body pressed against his. And Steve's bigger and stronger than him, strong enough to match him, strong enough that he won’t have to worry about accidentally hurting Steve. Just—the fact that it’s _Steve_ leaves him feeling safe and secure and so fucking turned on. 

Steve nips and kisses his way along Bucky’s jaw till he reaches Bucky’s ear. “Is this okay,” Steve whispers, his breath hot and intimate in Bucky’s ear.

His mind flashes back to Steve’s voice in his dream and he has to bite back a moan. “Yes,” he whispers back on a shaky breath. So okay. One hundred percent okay.

“Good.” Steve traces the whorl of Bucky’s ear with the tip of his tongue. 

This time, Bucky can’t hold back a moan and Steve laughs, low and dirty in his ear, sending a shiver chasing down his spine. Wanting to see if he can shake Steve’s self control, he slides his hands down Steve’s back to cup his ass and pull Steve tight against him. It’s Steve’s turn to swear, and then it becomes a race to strip each other, before Steve’s pushing him back onto the bed.

He hardly has time to draw breath before Steve’s on him and kissing him. He wraps his arms around Steve’s neck, relishing the way Steve’s solid weight presses him into the bed, and the feel of Steve’s cock pressing against him. It’s new and different and he loves it. Then Steve rocks his hips against Bucky’s and _fuck…_ Their kiss turns desperate and biting as they continue to rock together, and Bucky doesn’t even care if he ends up with friction burns on his cock. He makes a protesting sound when Steve breaks the kiss.

“Patience,” Steve whispers as he trails soft sucking kisses down Bucky’s neck. “Let me do this for you.” 

Bucky groans and collapses back on the bed. Steve presses gentle kisses that feel like an apology onto the scars on his shoulder and along the seam where metal meets flesh. He stiffens self-consciously when the plates in his arm recalibrate with a metallic whine. Steve pauses to follow the motion with his eyes before gliding his hand up Bucky’s arm, and following in its path with kisses.

Bucky’s heart feels full to bursting with an emotion he can’t name. “You wanna be careful there, pal,” he rasps, “those things pinch like the devil.” Steve holds his gaze and presses one last kiss onto his arm because Steve’s always got to be a contrary little punk. Bucky has to look away after a few seconds, feeling undeserving of the gentle acceptance in Steve’s eyes.

As though sensing that the moment is becoming too charged, Steve presses one last kiss to the star on Bucky’s shoulder before moving down his body, nipping and biting and soothing those bites with his tongue. The contrast between the sharp clarity of the little nips Steve scatters over his skin, the wet velvety heat of Steve’s tongue and the warmth of Steve’s hand as it strokes up and down his side in slow, gentle passes soon has him panting and writhing. Steve keeps working his way slowly down Bucky’s body until he can feel Steve’s hot breath washing over his aching cock. Steve’s going to—

“Oh _god_...” His whole body flushes with heat as Steve’s mouth slides down his cock in a soft silky slide. Steve takes his time, licking over him, sucking him down slow and unhurried. It’s almost too much; too much sensation, too much pleasure; and only the steady pressure of Steve’s hands pinning his hips to the bed help keep him anchored, a counterweight for him to push against. 

He pushes himself up on his elbows. “Steve,” he whispers, dizzy with pleasure and greedy for this side of Steve he’s never seen. 

Steve looks up at him, eyes dark with lust and with those plush lips stretched around his cock. He cups his hand around Steve’s jaw. _So gorgeous_ , Bucky thinks _._ Steve tilts his head into the caress and Bucky’s heart squeezes at the affection in that little motion. 

This is supposed to be just sex, a stop-gap for both of them, and yet there’s an undercurrent of tenderness to everything Steve does that has Bucky half-convinced there’s no one else Steve’d rather be doing this with. He’s so fucking lucky he gets to call this man his best friend, because of course Steve would be a generous lover. 

He strokes his thumb over Steve’s cheekbone and Steve hums low in his throat at the touch. The vibrations shake loose every thought in Bucky’s head and he nearly comes off the bed when Steve does a swirly thing with his tongue. It doesn't take very long at all before Bucky feels the familiar tingling in his lower back. “Steve… I'm gonna…” he pulls at Steve's hair. “You don't have to—”

Steve growls low in his throat, grabs Bucky's wrists and slams them back down on the bed. 

“Jesus, _fuck_ —!” His hips jerk up and Steve swallows him down all the way. He comes so hard that his mind whites out, every muscle in his body snapped taut as a bowstring as wave after wave of pleasure swamps him.

He’s not sure how long he lies there after, mind hazy as he tries to catch his breath. When he finally opens his eyes, Steve’s watching him carefully, as though he’s just waiting to get kicked out of bed. Idiot. He pulls Steve down and kisses him.

Which is when he notices that Steve’s still hard. He freezes. 

“Sorry,” Steve says, and would have moved off him if he hadn’t tightened his hold on Steve. 

Well now... here was hard, ha, evidence that Steve hadn’t just been saying it for his sake, this friends with benefits thing really would be mutually beneficial. He shifts his hips experimentally. Steve makes a small sound that makes every cell in Bucky’s body stand to attention even though he’d just come his fucking brains out.

“I can help you with that,” he whispers against Steve’s lips. He rolls his hips a little more confidently and Steve swallows a curse. 

“It's okay, Buck,” Steve says, and tries to pull away again. “I don't expect—”

Bucky hangs on determinedly. “Getting laid was never just about me, Steve.” A thought occurs to him and he lets go of Steve. “Unless you don't want me to—”

Steve immediately stops pulling away. “I do,” he says, “I do.” 

Bucky can hear the truth of just how much Steve wants it in the low rough sound of his voice and thinks, _Thank god._ He rolls them over so he’s on top, propped on his metal elbow as he surveys Steve. He still can’t understand how he could’ve gone so many years without ever noticing just how beautiful Steve is. He must’ve been fucking blind.

He traces Steve’s lips with his finger, watching in fascination when they part at his touch. Then, he trails his fingers down Steve’s neck and flattens his palm over Steve’s chest, taking a moment to appreciate the strong steady beat of Steve’s heart under his hand and the way Steve’s chest rises and falls as he labours for breath. It’s a sound he knows well, but for the first time, it doesn’t incite worry. 

He continues stroking his hand down Steve’s body, feeling the way Steve’s stomach muscles clench and release, until at last, he wraps his hand around Steve’s cock. Steve’s breathing becomes more laboured as he stares at the hand Bucky’s got wrapped around him. 

Bucky stares too, because that’s Steve’s _cock_ in his hand. The head’s a beautiful rose colour that perfectly matches the colour of Steve’s lips, and Jesus, he’s seriously screwed himself over because now he’ll never be able to see Steve’s lips and not think of this moment. He gives it an experimental tug. Steve groans and a clear drop of precome leaks out from the tip. Curious, he swipes it up with his thumb and brings it to his lips for a taste. 

_“Bucky.”_

Something hot and sharp and possessive unfurls in his chest when he notices Steve watching his mouth with an almost feral intensity. He licks his lips and thinks about blowing Steve. He wants to, wants to give Steve the same pleasure Steve gave him, but he’s never done it before, and he thinks about fucking it up and not doing right by Steve and okay, maybe he should study up first. He’ll stick to his hand for now, give Steve the best hand job he can. Plus this way, he gets to see Steve come. He _really_ wants to see Steve come. 

He brings his hand back to his mouth and licks his palm slowly, aiming for sexy and hoping it doesn’t come off as ridiculous instead. From the way Steve can’t seem to take his eyes off Bucky’s mouth, Bucky’s pretty sure he succeeded. He smirks.

Steve blinks and looks at him. “Bastard.” 

Bucky smirks some more and then he takes Steve’s cock in his hand and gives it a little squeeze. 

Steve inhales sharply. “Don’t fucking tease,” he groans. 

He jerks Steve off slow, wanting to make it last. And it should be weird, shouldn’t it? The fact that he’s jerking Steve off? But all he can think is how gorgeous Steve is like this, the little furrow between his eyebrows almost like he’s in pain, the small sounds he makes that leave Bucky feeling punched in the gut, the way he's completely focused on Bucky and just… _fuck_. 

“God, Steve, the way you look...” 

With a curse, Steve fists his hand in Bucky’s hair, pulls him down and proceeds to fuck Bucky's mouth with his tongue the way he's fucking Bucky's fist with his cock. Bucky can only moan helplessly into Steve’s mouth, so turned on by the way Steve’s chasing his own release.

Steve breaks the kiss and drags his fingers through the hair at Bucky’s temples, pushing it back so Steve can look into his eyes. For a few endless moments, everything around Bucky fades and the only thing he can see is Steve. Then Steve groans out Bucky’s name with a ragged broken edge to his voice that sounds almost reverent, his head tips back and he cries out as he comes. 

He can’t hold back his own moan because Steve coming is probably the single hottest thing Bucky’s ever seen. It also feels like a privilege to see him like this, completely given over to the moment in a way Steve so rarely allows himself to be. 

He strokes Steve through his orgasm until Steve slumps back on the bed, boneless and sated and happy. His eyes are closed and his chest heaves as he struggles to catch his breath. A small smile curls up one corner of his lips. Bucky feels an answering smile creep onto his own face as he picks up his discarded t-shirt and carefully cleans off Steve’s torso. 

Steve’s eyes blink open and he smiles dazedly at Bucky for a moment. Then Steve blinks again and he can almost see Steve gathering the scattered threads of his self-control back around himself. A dull ache starts up in his chest as he watches tension returning to Steve’s muscles. 

When Steve sits up, he grabs Steve's wrist before he really thinks about what he's doing. “Where’re you going?”

“There’re rules about this, I think. No sharing a bed after—” Steve’s gaze flickers to the bed and then away. He clears his throat but doesn’t continue.

“Since when are you all about following rules?”

Steve shrugs, but it’s a tight uncomfortable motion and it gives Bucky hope. Because it looks like Steve doesn’t really want to go. _He_ certainly doesn’t want Steve to go… it just didn’t feel right. Not after they’d just had—his mind balks at the word ‘sex’ but shies away from suggesting an alternative. 

“You can—Do you want to stay?” Bucky asks. “It’s not like we never shared a bed before.” 

There’s a long unnerving silence while Steve searches Bucky’s eyes. Bucky’s not sure what Steve’s looking for, but he seems to find it. “I’d like that,” Steve says finally. There’s a soft look in his eyes that makes Bucky feel strange and squirmy inside.

“I call little spoon.” 

“Whatever you want,” Steve says, still with that soft look in his eyes.

They lie back down and Steve curls himself around Bucky. Maybe he should’ve thought things through a little more. Because they may have shared beds before, but it was mostly just backs pressed together to share warmth. This though, pressed close, skin to skin and with Steve’s arms wrapped around him, is a totally different experience. It’s nice… makes him feel safe. And also very alive. He could see himself getting used to it way too easily. 

But it’s okay. It’ll be fine. He’s slept alone for a long time, he should have no problem getting used to it again when the time comes to end their arrangement. 

“Good night, Buck.”

He can feel the shape of Steve’s smile on the back of his neck and a brief press of lips. “Good night, Steve.”

For the first time in a good long while, Bucky falls asleep within minutes of his head touching the pillow.

*

Bucky wakes to the feeling of Steve carefully lifting his arm off Bucky’s chest and shifting away, leaving the whole right side of his body feeling chilled. Before he’s figured out how he feels about Steve trying to sneak off, Steve lies back down on the other side of the bed. And then… nothing. 

After about a minute of listening to the suspiciously even sound of Steve’s breathing, he turns on his side to watch Steve pretend to sleep. Nat would have Steve’s head, he’s so bad at it, but it might be the most endearing thing Bucky’s ever seen. He’s not sure why Steve bothers though, it’s not like they didn’t go to sleep with Steve wrapped around him. 

“I know you're awake, pal.”

Steve freezes for a moment, then carries on with the metronomic breathing. He never did know when to quit. 

He pokes Steve on the shin with his toe. “Quit faking.”

“You have no proof of that,” Steve says without opening his eyes.

“Sure I do. You’re a mouth breather when you sleep, Steve.” 

Steve’s eyes pop open and he gives Bucky an offended look. “I am _not._ ”

“Always have been.” It came from years of sleeping with a blocked nose and persisted even after the serum unclogged his big nose for good. Bucky finds it reassuring… in sleep, he’s still the Steve that Bucky grew up with. 

Steve glares. “You are terrible.”

“Your _face_ is terrible.”

Just as Steve opens his mouth to reply, his stomach growls _really loudly._

Bucky holds back a laugh at the sheepish look on Steve’s face. “So I guess morning sex is out, huh?” 

“Not unless you want my stomach imploding halfway through.”

He snorts. “Eggs and bacon?”

“Eggs and bacon,” Steve confirms. 

Steve stops him with a touch on his arm when he’s already got one foot out of the bed.

“We’re okay, right?” Steve asks, soft and uncertain. 

He leans down and kisses Steve, sour breath and all. “Yeah. I think we are. And next time, don’t bother pretending you weren’t cuddling me, Steve.” He grins. “Pretending’s not really your strong suit.”

He gets the bathroom door closed just in time to block the pillow that’s thrown at him.

*

Well, shit.

He stares at the browser window. Maybe he shouldn’t have waited till one week in to do his research because apparently, they’re doing this friends with benefits thing all wrong.

1\. No sleeping over 

Steve's practically moved into his room. He’s pretty sure both of them are getting the best sleep they’ve had in years, plus he gets to wake up to Steve’s stupid mug in the mornings. 

2\. No cuddling

So much cuddling. After sex, while watching movies, while reading, while cooking… sometimes they cuddle while smack talking each other, just for the heck of it. 

3\. Limit booty calls to once or twice a week

Clearly not meant for serum-enhanced libidos. 

4\. Don’t spend too much time together 

They're best friends who live together, train together, fight together and oh yeah, fuck together, for fuck’s sake.

5\. Don't become emotionally entangled 

Now that's the kicker. They've stood by each other all their lives. Hell, they've saved each other's lives. He broke his conditioning for Steve. Steve dropped his shield rather than fight him. They're as emotionally entangled as they come. 

So what the hell is he supposed to do? Should he say something? He chews his lip. Nah... it’s too late now. And besides, it’s not like Steve doesn’t know all this already, his plans might be half-assed, but he always did his homework.

Honestly, Bucky doesn’t see how knowing the rules beforehand would have made a difference anyway. There’s no way they could’ve kept it impersonal, not with the history they share. 

Yeah... that makes sense. He puts away his phone, relieved to get it all squared away in his head. He likes the way they’re handling their arrangement just fine, and doesn’t see any need to change a thing.

*

It’s 5.47 on a Thursday evening and he’s idly scrolling through recipes for the chicken defrosting in the pan, a warm happy glow in his chest at the thought that Steve will be home soon.

That’s when it hits him. 

He’s the world’s biggest idiot. 

He’s gone and fallen in love with his best friend. 

And sooner or later, he’s going to be the world’s biggest idiot with a broken heart. Because this arrangement they’ve got can’t last forever, one day Steve’s going to meet someone he can love as much as he loved Peggy. Whereas he… he’s pretty sure he’s never going to meet someone he can love as much as he loves Steve.

There's a chime from the security monitor. It’s the lift heading up to their floor. Steve. For the second time in as many months, he panics. He’s up in the ventilation shaft by the time the front door opens. 

“Bucky?” Steve calls out as he comes in. 

He watches Steve through the slats of the air vent, hardly daring to breathe.

Steve waits for a moment before calling his name again, this time a little louder. After a long silence, Steve’s face falls and his shoulders droop. It's almost enough to make Bucky come out of hiding, but he feels too raw, the knowledge still too new on his skin for him to be able to hide it. When he sees Steve reaching for his phone, he grabs for his own, nearly dropping it in the process, and mutes it. Bucky waits until Steve takes himself and his enhanced ears off to the shower before he starts moving.

He knows his coping mechanisms aren’t always the best, but even he knows that getting stuck in a groove of _what the fuck do I do, I don’t want this to end, I’m not ready to give him up_ isn’t going to help anything. So, using his phone to light the way, he takes the turn that’ll lead him to Nat and Clint’s apartment. 

Since getting shot would be the cherry on top of his fucking day, he doesn’t make any effort to be quiet as he crawls through the shaft over their living room. He raps once on the access panel before swinging it open and dropping down into the room. 

Nat looks up from where she's curled up against Clint on the sofa. Then she straightens up and takes a closer look at him. “Are you okay?”

“No.”

Clint and her exchange a look. Then Clint switches off the tv and they smoosh themselves into one corner of the couch. “Is this about Steve?” Nat asks, a note of worry in her voice.

He sits down in the space they made for him and wraps his arms around the throw cushion Nat hands him. “Maybe.”

Clint nudges Nat. “That means yes.” 

“Fuck you,” Bucky says, but he’s too stressed to put much bite in it. He breathes in and out for a count of ten. “I fucked up,” he says. 

Nat drapes her legs over his lap and leans against Clint. “Care to share with the class?” 

He lets out a sigh that feels like it could go on forever. “This thing with Steve, it was supposed to be no strings attached and now—” He drops the cushion on top of Nat’s calves and buries his face in it.

“Oh James.” She strokes her hand over the back of his head. “In what universe do you think you and Steve could ever be ‘no strings attached’?” 

“What she said,” Clint says.

“It's what he wanted,” he grumbles into the pillow.

“Are you sure?” Nat asks. “Or is that what he thinks _you_ wanted.”

He raises his head and pushes his hair out of his eyes. “What are you saying?”

“I'm saying, pay attention to what he does and not what he says. From what I’ve seen, you're not the only one who’s gotten attached.”

Huh. He thinks about the way Steve seems to be always touching him lately; the cuddles, the little kisses Steve drops on him throughout the day. And then there’s the smile that seems reserved just for him— 

Nat’s phone buzzes. She glances at it. “It’s Steve, asking if you’re here.”

“I’m not.”

“James.”

He gets up, making sure to deposit Nat’s legs gently back on the couch. A jump and a heave and he’s pulling himself through the still open panel. Once he’s safely back in the shaft, he sticks his head out. “I’m _not_.” He closes the panel and crawls away, determinedly ignoring Clint’s shouted “Chicken!” and Nat’s amused “We do have a door,” as he goes.

He’s still not ready to face Steve so he heads over to the gym and changes into running gear. As he gets on one of the reinforced treadmills, he says, “JARVIS?” 

“Yes, Sergeant Barnes?”

“Can you—” He clears his throat and ignores the little twinge of guilt. “Please don’t tell Steve where I am?”

“Certainly, Sergeant Barnes. Should I inform you if Captain Rogers approaches the gym?”

“Yes, please.”

“Would a ten minute head start be sufficient for you?”

He can’t help but smile at that. He always did have a soft spot for the sarcastic ones. “Yes it would. Thanks.”

“You’re most welcome.”

He runs and runs and runs and in the clarity of mind he sometimes achieves when he focuses only on the next step, the next breath, the thing that’s been niggling at him ever since his talk with Nat crystallises in his mind. There’d been a moment before Steve had come that first time when he’d looked at Bucky, and the look in Steve’s eyes, broken open and vulnerable... Bucky feels breathless just thinking about it. 

And it’s like a key that unlocks other moments; when he’d told Steve he was shipping out, when Steve had lain on the floor of the helicarrier and placed his life in Bucky’s hands, when he'd finally shown up at Steve’s door after a year in hiding; and the look in Steve’s eyes each and every time. His steps falter and he hops off the treadmill. 

Maybe he wasn’t the only idiot in the equation. Maybe their arrangement didn't have to end. Maybe… maybe it could even be permanent. 

No, he’s getting ahead of himself. One thing at a time. First, he needs to find out how Steve really feels about him, and to do that, he’s going to have to come clean. His insides churn at the thought of talking to Steve about _feelings_. Which is… not great, but he’s overcome worse, right? 

He tries very hard not to think of all the things that could go wrong, because if he does, he’s going to lose his nerve and he refuses to lose his nerve. After the shitshow that’s been his life, he’ll take his blessings where he can and having a chance with Steve counts as a fucking blessing in his book. So. One thing at a time. 

By the time he’s showered and changed, it’s well past dinner time. Steve’s on the couch, sketchbook in hand, when Bucky walks in. He stares at Steve, mind completely blank. How does he do this? How does he tell Steve that he’s in love with him? 

“Steve,” he says, and stalls there.

“Hey Buck.” 

He’s instantly on alert, Steve sounds cheerful enough, but there’s something a little off about him. Bucky looks around the apartment, and notices that the table’s set for two and the chicken that was defrosting on the counter is gone. 

“You haven’t eaten?”

Steve’s gaze skitters to the side. “I thought I’d wait for you.”

“Oh.” He pushes his hair back, feeling guilty as hell and about as awkward. “Sorry. I went for a run. Guess I kind of lost track of time.”

Steve produces a smile that could probably fool anyone who didn’t know him as well as Bucky did. “It’s no big deal.”

Feeling really worried now, Bucky goes to Steve. He takes the unopened sketchbook and pencil, puts them on the coffee table and drops to his knees in the gap between Steve’s spread legs. He places his hands on Steve’s thighs and looks at him closely. “You okay, pal?” 

“Yeah,” Steve says, and covers Bucky’s hands with his own. “Yeah, I’m okay.” He presses his forehead to Bucky’s and some of the tension in Steve’s body seeps away. After a moment, Steve pulls back enough that Bucky can look into his eyes. This time, Steve’s smile looks more natural, but there’s still a tightness around his eyes. From the set look on his face, Bucky knows not to push, he’ll try again when Steve’s not feeling so stubborn.

He stands up and holds out his hand to Steve. “Come on. Let’s eat.”

Steve grabs his hand with a grateful smile and lets himself be tugged to his feet and pulled into the kitchen 

“You know,” Bucky says as he gets the salad out from the fridge, glad for an excuse not to look at Steve, “there’s something I’d like to talk to you about.” 

There’s a few seconds of absolute silence behind him before Steve says “Okay,” in a carefully neutral voice.

“This thing we’re doing—”

The oven door bangs shut behind him and he spins around in surprise. 

“Sorry,” Steve mutters. “Hand slipped.” Before Bucky can say anything, Steve turns away and walks towards the dining table with the dish of roast chicken. He puts the dish down but doesn’t turn around.

Shit. Did Steve think...? He hurries over and slips his arms around Steve’s waist and hooks his chin over Steve’s shoulder. “Just... let me finish, okay?” he whispers.

Steve grips Bucky’s hands _hard_. 

“What I wanted to say is,” Bucky continues, “this thing we’re doing, it’s not—it’s not really friends with benefits, is it?” 

“No.” 

The way Steve says it so softly, it sounds like an admission of guilt, and the little seed of hope starts to grow. “What if I said—” He takes a deep breath and releases it slowly, suddenly so nervous that he feels like puking. “What if I said I’m in love with you.” 

Sometimes he forgets how fast Steve can move, but when Steve spins around and cups his face in his hands before he can even blink, he’s abruptly reminded.

“Do you mean it?” Steve asks in a low voice that’s tight with emotion.

“Yes,” he says, knees wobbly with a mix of relief and happiness when he sees the hunger and hope in Steve’s eyes. “Yes. I love you.”

Steve crushes Bucky to him. “I thought—” Steve’s breathing like he can’t get enough air. “I thought you wanted to end it.”

“Never.” He wraps his arms around Steve and crushes him right back. “We will never be over.”

“I love you,” Steve says, voice fierce, then he whispers it again into Bucky’s hair. 

He squeezes his eyes shut, still not quite able to believe he’s not going to lose Steve, lose this thing they’ve built, but the way Steve’s holding him goes a long way towards convincing him. 

*

“You _fucker_ ,” Bucky says, as he stares at Steve with a mixture of disbelief and admiration. “You set me up.”

Steve pauses in the middle of pulling on his t-shirt and shoots him a confused look. “What?”

“You fucking set me up!” He clambers off the bed to confront Steve. Steve, who’d walked out of the bathroom in his fucking sleep pants. Steve, who’s now got a t-shirt pulled over his head. Steve, who has not walked around the apartment shirtless since they’d started the whole benefits thing. “Hot, my ass.” 

There’s a brief hesitation before Steve says primly, “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” and finishes pulling on his t-shirt.

Bucky taps the tips of Steve’s ears, which have taken on a lovely pink hue, the colour of guilt. “Liar, liar, pants on fire.”

Steve snorts. “And just how did I set you up?”

“That whole thing, walking around without your shirt on.” He can’t hold back the smile that creeps across his face. “You were seducing me. You sneaky little fuck.” He shakes his head in admiration. “God, I love you.”

Steve doesn’t even have the decency to look ashamed, in fact he looks downright smug, the fucker. He hooks an arm around Bucky’s waist and pulls him close. “Can’t fault my methods, can you? They worked.”

“Sneaky. Conniving. Sneak.” Bucky punctuates each word with a kiss. “I can’t believe everyone thinks you’re Mr All-American Apple Pie.”

“I don’t know why they’d think that.” Steve shakes his head. “I’d have thought it’s pretty clear there’s nothing I wouldn’t do for you, Buck. Lie, cheat, steal.” His eyes turn serious. “Kill.” 

Bucky smiles, sharp and fierce. “I'm glad I'm not the only one.” Because there are no limits to what he would do for Steve. “We are so fucked up.”

“As long as we're fucked up together,” Steve says. 

They share a moment of perfect understanding, and Bucky’s pretty sure his smile is just as feral as Steve’s. He’s not sure who moves first, but it’s a long while later before either of them is in any frame of mind to continue the conversation.

*

“What made you—? I mean, why now?” Bucky asks as they’re lying in bed together after yet another shower.

“I don’t know if you remember this, but there was a night when I saw you looking at me, and it was like—like you were really looking at me. And then you kind of… ran away.”

“I did not _run away_. I had… I dunno, heartburn or something.” He shifts guiltily when Steve raises an eyebrow and looks at him. “I’m serious. I was watching you with Sharon, and you guys looked good together, like you were having a good time. And you know I was happy for you when you two were together, right?”

Steve’s eyes are warm when he smiles at Bucky. “Yeah, Buck. I know.”

“But I don’t know why that night, seeing you two together, it… hurt.” He holds up a forestalling hand when Steve opens his mouth, guilt in his eyes. “Don’t even think about it. You didn’t do anything wrong, Steve. And to be perfectly honest, I really did think it was heartburn.”

That surprises a laugh out of Steve and Bucky can’t help but smile sheepishly at how fucking dumb he’d been.

“Buck, can you even get heartburn?”

“How should I know? Counterfeit serum, remember?”

Steve, because he’s a complete sap, leans over and presses a kiss to the scars on his shoulder. “Yeah. I remember.”

“Anyway.” He stops to clear his suddenly clogged throat. “That was when you looked at me. And I—panicked.”

“And ran away.”

“Fuck you.” He thinks about it for a moment. “So what was your plan? Flaunt your body, get me into bed and then…?”

“And then?” Steve smiles, self-deprecating and wry. “Hope that you'd see how good we could be together and never want to end it.”

“Wow.”

“Hey. It was a good plan.”

“Well… it was effective,” he concedes. “I, uh, had a dream about you actually, a few days after you started walking around without your shirt on.”

Steve comes to attention like a dog that’d spotted its favourite treat. “Yeah? What’d you dream about?”

“First, you tell me what your exit strategy was.” 

When Steve doesn’t say anything straight away, Bucky can already tell he’s not going to like the answer. And sure enough, Steve says, “There was no exit strategy, Buck. I’m yours as long as you want me.”

He stares at Steve in disbelief. “I swear to god, Steven Grant Rogers, sometimes you fucking terrify me. What kind of half-assed plan—”

Steve kisses him softly. “Shh.” 

He flicks Steve on the forehead. “Don’t you shush me. Seriously, what the hell were you thinking? What if I didn’t fall in love with you? What if I met someone else?”

Steve sighs and stares up at the ceiling. “I’d have let you go.”

“Are you fucking kidding me?” He glares at Steve. 

“Buck. I’ve loved you since I was sixteen. I’ve had plenty of practice watching you be with other people.”

“ _Stevie._ ” 

“Hey. What was it you said? You didn’t do anything wrong, Buck. You didn’t know. I didn’t _want_ you to know.” Steve shrugs. “As long as you came home to me… that’s all that mattered.”

God… how he must have hurt Steve. “I’m sorry it took me so long to catch up, Steve.” He turns on his side and faces Steve. “I’m gonna make it up to you, I swear.”

“You don’t have to, you dope.” Steve’s eyes are a soft perfect blue when he looks at Bucky. “But go right ahead if it’ll make you feel better.”

Bucky laughs. “Ass.”

They turn out the lights and snuggle under the blanket. Steve curls himself around Bucky’s back and wraps his arm around Bucky’s waist. Bucky smirks when he feels Steve’s cock, already half hard, pressing against him.

“So,” Steve whispers into his ear, “about that dream.”

He smiles into his pillow as a shiver of anticipation runs down his spine. “It starts out a lot like this, actually...”

**Author's Note:**

> Come find me on tumblr :) [yetanotherobsessivereader](http://yetanotherobsessivereader.tumblr.com/)


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